


A Proper Shopping Trip

by Count_B



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: Brunch, Confusion, F/F, Shopping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-27
Updated: 2012-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-10 20:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Count_B/pseuds/Count_B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maggie doesn't expect MacKenzie to take her shopping. She really doesn't expect anything that follows MacKenzie showing up with the intention of doing so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Proper Shopping Trip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shakespeares_Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shakespeares_Girl/gifts).



> So Shakespeares_Girl and I concluded that we needed Mac to actually take Maggie shopping. And when J agreed, well, this fic clearly had to happen.
> 
> I apologize for nothing.
> 
> Thanks to J for the read-through. Any errors are because I fail at life/fandom.

MacKenzie McHale is nothing like Maggie would have expected, but then Maggie's life is always a bit of a whirlwind and she's never even actually sure what it is she expects anyway. One day, she promises herself, one day she will actually get the hang of things and be the adult that her passport says she is. And then maybe, just maybe, she will quit being constantly taken by surprise.

Today is clearly not the day she quits being taken by surprise, though.

MacKenzie calling on her day off is mildly terrifying and Maggie blindly hopes she isn't getting fired. Instead of anything terrible or work-related, what MacKenzie says is, "Are you home?"

"Where else would I be?" Maggie pauses and then, anxiety taking over again, blurts, "Oh god, MacKenzie, was I supposed to be somewhere? I'm so sorry, where am I supposed to be, I'll get there right away."

MacKenzie sounds like she's pretending to try not to be amused. "Oh no, my dear, it's just that I seem to remember promising to take you shopping and I'm free and it sounds like you're free, and well-" Maggie stops in the middle of trying to find anything work-appropriate that doesn't desperately need an iron. "I'm actually outside your building right now."

"How did you know where I live?" Maggie gives up on looking for ironed clothing, moving on to a search for pants of some sort.

"You're in the office directory," MacKenzie reminds her. "Anyway, there's this tool you might find comes in handy, it's called Google. Can I come up or are you ready to go?"

If she was any other person, Maggie would be swearing. "I'll- Just a minute!" She trips and half-falls because it turns out that putting on pants one-handed is hard. "Ooph. Just give me like five minutes."

She hangs up without waiting for a reply. If she had time, she might wonder if maybe this is what people mean when they call her a pushover; she doesn't have time so she digs out a pair of oxfords from her closet and rakes a brush through her hair. Brushing her hair with one hand and putting toothpaste on her toothbrush with the other is a catastrophe she also doesn't have time for.

By the time Maggie has barreled down far too many flights of stairs, surprised at herself for not falling down them in her rush, she's a hot, sweaty mess and feels it all the more strongly when MacKenzie is looking as poised as always.

"MacKenzie, you don't, you know you don't have to take me shopping. I thought that was just something people say, like 'I could kiss you.'"

"And I could," MacKenzie's sounding amused-but-almost-pretending-not again and Maggie's face burns. "I just thought a girl might appreciate some new shoes or something, mimosas, you know, proper girl stuff. God knows I could use it and we both know it's more fun when you're not alone. Of course, you're not obligated to come, I just thought you might."

"No, it's fine," Maggie agrees.

"Great!" MacKenzie slides into a waiting cab that Maggie had completely missed. Maggie follows and the driver takes off without any further direction.

The place he drops them off is a nicer shopping area than Maggie has been to apart from one of two times window-shopping. The storefronts have charming little awnings and it looks like something from television, just too pretty to be real.

She can't help feeling a little overwhelmed; it's a relief when the first place MacKenzie leads her into turns out to be a café and, she can sit and try to get her bearings at least enough to fake it.

Maggie's ease, or as much ease as she can feel around MacKenzie, which really isn't any at all, comes to a sudden and shocking halt when she's calm enough to actually see what the menu says. She can't pay that for brunch! Even if she could afford it, which she definitely can't, she is not spending that much money on anything less than a steak dinner. It's just wrong!

MacKenzie is busy with her own menu, "I seem to remember the cinnamon rolls here are to die for. Not that I need something that unhealthy, but I suppose I can indulge just this once." She leans across the table and drops her voice like it's a secret. "I have such a thing for breakfast foods. It works out, since that's about all I can cook. God, I just want to get one of everything."

Even though it's not a secret at all, it makes Maggie feel like she's the only person MacKenzie would confess her breakfast cravings to. Maggie can't even make herself think 'I'd kill for...' but she wishes painfully hard that she had MacKenzie's ability to make people feel things with just a few words. It's not like they're hard words or anything, there's just something about the way she uses them that leaves Maggie feeling things, naïve or clever or just special. She's not; Maggie isn't all that clever or special but it's nice to feel it sometimes, even if she also feels like she might not even come close to measuring up to what MacKenzie expects of her.

"So what were your original plans for today?" MacKenzie asks brightly over the top of her menu. If there's one thing MacKenzie is not, it's a creature of silence. Even on the cab ride over, MacKenzie had talked of shopping in Afghanistan and how different it was, how she missed normal stores sometimes, how sending her father a birthday present was always the most difficult thing. Maggie's most interesting shopping experience was on a two week trip to France; she can't at all relate and just winds up all the more in awe of what MacKenzie experienced.

She's just normal, really, spends her time doing normal things. "Laundry, it was going to be laundry day."

With a smile, MacKenzie declares, "Well aren't you just lucky I saved you from such a dreary task!"

Thankfully the waitress approaches and Maggie is saved from a diplomatic reply that doesn't point out she'll just have to be up late doing the laundry instead. "What can I get you today?" she asks with an insincere smile and Maggie returns it with a shaky smile of her own.

The waitress sets her eyes on Maggie and Maggie realizes she's going to be ordering first. "Well um, I'll just have water thanks," she manages.

"No, she won't," MacKenzie immediately says. "She'll have the Eggs Benedict, trust me, they're delightful, and a latte. I'll have a cinnamon roll the size of my head and another latte. And we would both like a mimosa. Thank you."

Maggie gapes at the back of the waitress, unable to make herself call her back and rescind her half of the order. When the waitress leaves her line of sight, she recovers enough to manage a flustered, "I can order for myself, I'm not incapable."

"And I never said you were!" MacKenzie insists. "But you were going to leave me here, eating alone while you just watched. Do you have any idea how awkward that is?"

Half an hour later, Maggie is feeling a little tipsy, she's not gonna lie. Well, that may actually be a lie, she might be feeling a lot tipsy and she's not actually at all sure it was only half an hour, but she's pretty sure time has passed and she's very sure about feeling some degree of tipsiness. She blames this for MacKenzie snatching the check away from her reach before she can tuck her debit card into the little folder.

"Nono, my treat, I insist," MacKenzie holds the folder hostage until the waitress comes back and Maggie can't do anything but watch as she signs the receipt with a rapid squiggle of blue ink.

Then MacKenzie's whisking her out the door and all Maggie can do is grab her purse and be glad she's not in heels.

Really, with a thought like that, she shouldn't be surprised when the boutique MacKenzie drags her into is a shoe store. Maggie hates shoe stores like that, all open air and probably everyone staring at her. MacKenzie doesn't seem to find the shop intimidating at all, scanning the shelves with the same attention she gives a news bulletin she swears has some detail worth pursuing. Unable to manage that, Maggie sits on a chair that proves to be more uncomfortable than any furniture her great grandmother had owned and watches.

"Nono, not kitten heels," MacKenzie insists, apparently to the shoes themselves. "Something with a bit more- hm. What are you, a five and a half?"

"Six, wait, what-"

"Miss, could we please see these in a six?" MacKenzie asks, pointing at a shoe that looks like it was designed to double as a knife.

The moment a shoe clerk slides a shoe on her foot usually feels magical to Maggie, proof she saw Cinderella way too many times. This time, it doesn't feel like that. The black pointy toes aren't as cramped as they look, but they don't look like they belong on her feet.

Maggie stands to try walking in them; she makes it three steps before the needlelike heels refuse to hold her and she crumples. MacKenzie catches her before she hits the ground. With all the dignity she can muster, Maggie informs MacKenzie, "I am never wearing stilettos again."

Once Maggie has her own shoes on again, they abandon the shoe shop. Maggie opts to pretend she didn't hear MacKenzie concluding shoes aren't going to be settled on in a day.

The next shop holds clothing. Normal, insanely expensive clothing. That's fine, Maggie will just make sure she doesn't look at any of the tags. Or become attached to any of it, even that cute skirt with the ruffles.

MacKenzie's still talking about the shoes as she looks around, holding up a shirt against herself, frowning, then holding it against Maggie before shaking her head and returning it to a hook. "It's just, your personality screams kitten heels, but kitten heels make people think they can walk all over you. A heel with a bit of attitude, a little 'no, I will not tolerate your nonsense', it could do wonders. But I don't know what shoe will say that on you, not say 'I borrowed my roommate's shoes, that's why they don't suit me.'"

"What's wrong with being a kitten heels personality?"

"Nothing, dear, oh, nothing." MacKenzie looks concerned she's offended Maggie. "I just hate that people take you for granted and don't give you near enough credit."

"I'm an intern," Maggie confesses in a rush, turning to study a cardigan and hide her heightened color.

"What?"

Maggie turns to look at MacKenzie in the eye, slowly enunciating every word. "I'm an intern. Will thought I was his assistant, so I started doing that. He didn't even know my name. Then you promoted me from a job I didn't really have in the first place."

"Where do you think we all start out?" MacKenzie asks. "The people who become producers in television, they start out as interns and then decide to do more. Now if you don't try on that skirt you've been eyeing since we walked in the door, I'll do something terrible, don't ask me what, I will!"

MacKenzie bullies her into the fitting room with an armful of things to try on. None of Maggie's flailing or squawking could save her, but then, she never expected it would. She suspects nothing can truly stop MacKenzie.

"Come on," MacKenzie calls from outside the fitting room. "It doesn't count as going shopping unless you model what you're trying on."

"Just a minute!" Maggie calls back, fighting bitterly with a zipper. She's been zipping her own clothing for most of her life, it seems like she should have a handle on doing so by now. Reality begs to differ.

Finally the zipper pull gives in and slides up to the nape of her neck and she eyes herself in the mirror. She twists right and left and decides it's good enough. Maggie wouldn't have picked out the dress for herself, but maybe it works, she's not sure.

She steps out of the fitting room and MacKenzie whistles. "Well look at you!" Maggie blushes and hates that the whole store is so well lit; there's no hiding it. She moves in front of the three way mirror and turns again, this time with MacKenzie providing critique in the background. "God, I wish I had your ass, it looks amazing."

"Oh, so you think, you think it looks good then? The dress I mean, you think the dress looks good on me?" Maggie looks down at her cleavage, at the flare of the skirt over her hips and wonders if the reason she is so unsure of the dress is that it makes her look like an adult, a real adult, not one that struggles to pay all her bills and still afford groceries.

With a quietly pleased look, MacKenzie says, "I genuinely do. You cannot put a price on looking that amazing."

"Sure you can," Maggie gripes quietly to herself, turning back to the fitting room. "Apparently it's three hundred dollars."

The clothes are nice. They don't all suit her, but Maggie finds them nice. None of them get the reaction from MacKenzie that the dress did, and she's almost but not quite relieved. It seems like a lot of pressure to put on an article of clothing.

Her protests don't keep MacKenzie from walking out with both the dress and the ruffled skirt neatly bagged for her.

It's halfway through the racks of the next store that something finally dawns on Maggie. "Hey!" She frowns and MacKenzie looks at her, startled. "Why aren't you trying anything on?"

"Oh." MacKenzie's actually silent and Maggie would swear she's confused. "I suppose I haven't tried anything on."

"No, you haven't." Maggie pushes away the dress MacKenzie seems to be contemplating. "I'm not trying on anything else until you do."

MacKenzie protests, still looking confused, but Maggie just starts shoving clothes at her to try on. It's surprisingly fun, making MacKenzie try to hold onto an armful of clothes while still browsing the racks.

Eventually MacKenzie just gives up and trails off into the fitting room. "Trying on new clothes is infinitely more fun when I've lost weight," she informs the populace at large, namely Maggie and a bored shop clerk. "Although..." She trails off and the latch snicks open.

"You look amazing," Maggie not quite stutters.

"I'll confess I'm not disappointed," MacKenzie admits with a satisfied smile. "Still, I'm not sure I really need another skirt."

"Yes you do." Maggie looks away. "After all, you can't put a price on looking great."

"Well, when you put it like that." MacKenzie smiles at Maggie's reflection in the mirror.

Maggie fumbles with her purse until MacKenzie disappears back into the fitting room. It's not ignoring MacKenzie, not when MacKenzie starts raising her voice as soon as she has the door latched again, talking about something she'd read that morning about prison safety.

It's a vast improvement on MacKenzie asking about her sex life, so Maggie tries to keep up with what MacKenzie's saying. "What do you mean, prisons aren't safe? Is there some conspiracy to cover up a bunch of prison breaks?"

"No, not at all," MacKenzie's voice gets that slight muffled sound like she's talking through a shirt but it's still clear enough to hear what she's saying. "At least, none I'm aware of. It's not safe for the inmates. From what I gather, prison fires are still a serious concern."

From what she can gather, MacKenzie's not certain it's worth pitching to Will, so Maggie promises her that she'll help look into it. That shouldn't satisfy MacKenzie, not when MacKenzie has more experience in a warzone than Maggie does in a proper newsroom, but apparently it does. It satisfies her enough that she's not disappointed when the skirt is the only thing either of them find in that shop.

At the cash register, MacKenzie bites her lip when Maggie starts checking the time on her phone. "I'm not keeping you from anything, am I?"

"Oh, n-no," Maggie denies. It's getting dark outside though, the kind of dark where she can't tell how much is genuine darkness and how much is just the long shadows that fill the city. It's still early enough she thinks it must just be shadows for now. She might still get home without MacKenzie buying her dinner, too.

"I am!" MacKenzie disagrees. "Why didn't you say anything? I'm so sorry, just- do you have time for one more store? Last one, I promise."

Maggie nods and follows her out the door. The cords on the handle of her shopping bag are digging painfully into her palm, but she can't make herself hold it any more loosely. The day has turned out so strange, even if she hadn't been expecting a dull day of household chores.

When MacKenzie aims for a raspberry pink awning, Maggie hopes it's not more shoes. One shoe store was enough for one day. Unleashed - the name printed in a friendly white font on the canopy - is unrevealing enough it could be anything. Maybe it's one of those ridiculous pet shops that sell only rhinestone-studded collars and gold gilt water bowls. "MacKenzie, I didn't know that you own a-"

Maggie cuts herself off midsentence as she walks in the door because the word that replaces cat in her mind isn't one she'd ever say aloud.

MacKenzie keeps walking, apparently unfazed by the wall of-

Maggie wants to look away, but she can't. Her face is burning but all she can do is stand there just inside the door, gaping at row after row of brightly colored dildos lining the wall on the right.

She's not sure how long she gapes before MacKenzie's hand is on her arm. "Maggie, have you ever been in a sex shop before?"

"No..." Maggie shakes head head decidedly.

"Right, well, quick tour then." MacKenzie gestures to the left. "Over here are paddles, then there are cuffs and other bondage supplies. The shelf in the middle has how-to books on one side and erotica on the other. Well, they call it erotica but let's be honest, it's porn. As you can see, here on the right are the dildos and at the back you'll find a full range of vibrators." She continues gesturing as her description goes on, ending with guiding Maggie towards the back wall.

"I could just-" Maggie waves vaguely, "Leave you to it?"

"Not at all!" MacKenzie insists. "Every girl needs to know about sex toys, it's not like we can just count on someone else to do all the work."

"But doesn't the vibrator do all the work?" Maggie asks. She resolutely doesn't let herself think about the fact she just said vibrator in front of her boss.

MacKenzie picks up a blue vibrator shaped like a cuddly animal and turns it on. It shakes in her hand, the whirring louder than Maggie expected. "Not entirely, but they do help." She presses the vibrator against Maggie and Maggie jumps. "Well? What do you think?"

"What?" She steps back and looks at MacKenzie, looks away, then looks back because MacKenzie's the only thing that's not a sex toy. 

"Of the vibration. You need to test them out so you don't get the wrong one. A lot actually have multiple settings." She pushes a button and the sound changes. This time when she presses the vibrator against Maggie, Maggie doesn't jump.

Maggie's flush is almost painful but she doesn't take off even though she isn't sure she can really handle being in a sex shop. She stands there and, after MacKenzie asks her opinion on a couple more, actually fumbles with a vibrator herself.

Of course, she has no idea how she's supposed to know what vibration is right, but humoring MacKenzie is apparently something Maggie's really good at. Until MacKenzie asks her opinion again and Maggie has to admit she's clueless. "They all seem to vibrate."

"I should hope so!" MacKenzie hands her one of the larger and more disconcerting vibrators, one that moves in multiple places. "Every girl should have a rabbit. There's no point starting out with an inferior vibrator. Now I'm going to check out the handcuffs again, you go ahead and look around, see if there's anything else you'd like."

Every time Maggie looks closer at anything, she worries she'll look like some kind of pervert; she sort of hovers around the store not getting too close to anything until MacKenzie approaches her, a wide pair of leather cuffs in one hand. "All set then? Wonderful."

By the time the clerk hands her a new vibrator, tucked in a pink bag that's thankfully opaque, Maggie's too flustered for words again.

It doesn't fade. It doesn't fade when Maggie gets home and MacKenzie has to call her back to the cab because they inadvertently swapped bags. It doesn't fade when Maggie puts away her clean laundry, the IKEA dresser shaking when she shuts the top drawer, knocking the vibrator to the floor.

She's still flustered when she gets ready for work the next day, even if she does manage to avoid knocking the vibrator off her dresser again. But Maggie's a professional, so she devotes herself to the day's stories. Her downtime gets devoted to looking into the prison fire idea, which is enough distraction she only blushes and doesn't actually stutter when she hands MacKenzie printouts of her findings.

"Things are certainly warming up," MacKenzie practically purrs. Maggie wonders if MacKenzie is as turned on by hard news as she sounds, then trips her way back to her desk as fast as she can go because she can't believe she even thought that.

When Maggie gets home from work, the vibrator is still there on her dresser. She'd almost convinced herself she invented it in some mimosa-and-designer-clothing fueled dream, but there it is in all its purple silicon glory. She can't keep from noticing it there, but she also can't bring herself to just hide it away, not when it was a gift.

Work on Tuesday is an awful lot of following up sources on the prison fire story and relaying her findings to MacKenzie. She tries not to think about sex or anything related to it, and it doesn't really work but she's busy enough no one knows any better.

Maggie can't do this anymore, she can't just keep having these thoughts. It'll make her crazy. There has to be a way to stop. Sex toys aren't that intimidating; maybe she just needs to use it and then she can think about something else.

She gets home to a thankfully quiet apartment and barricades herself in her bedroom. Then she realizes she needs batteries and has to go back into the living room to find some. She raids the TV remote for a couple batteries and then locks herself in her room again.

Maggie strips down to her underwear and lays on her bed. She drops the batteries twice before she manages to fit them in the vibrator, and then turns it around in her hand, still apprehensive. Maggie's never used anything like it before, she doesn't even know what she's supposed to do with it really.

Tugging down her underwear, Maggie tries to remember what MacKenzie had said about using her own rabbit. She switches it on and it nearly shakes right out of her hand. Maggie adjusts her hold and touches the rabbit to her abdomen, squirming as she glides it down across her skin until it's between her thighs.

It's hard to not feel self-conscious, even knowing she's alone in the room and there's no Lisa to hear her if she makes any noise.

She thinks about MacKenzie, her smooth accent explaining the different vibration settings, and changes the setting before pressing the shaft of the vibrator inside herself. Maggie bites back a gasp as the moving object slides further in. The smaller, rabbit-eared piece of the toy presses against her as the shaft sinks home and she can't bite back her gasp this time. MacKenzie hadn't said it would feel like this.

Maggie tries to remember to breathe as she keeps moving the rabbit. She wonders if she's doing it right, if MacKenzie does it differently. It's impossible to brush away the thought of MacKenzie demonstrating in detail, biting her lip as she adjusts the angle just so. Maggie's gasping for air, toes pointing as her hips push up towards the toy. It's too much, she can hardly bear it, but she can't stop.

Panting rapidly, Maggie moves the shaft in and out, pressing the vibrator into herself until she finds she really can't do anything because she is so overwhelmed. So much for the g-spot being a myth, there's no other way this can feel so much. She forces herself to keep breathing as her body trembles on the brink of completion. Apparently that's movement enough to shift the vibrator again and thrust Maggie over the edge, sweaty and loud.

The first person Maggie sees Wednesday morning is MacKenzie, asking her to just find one more reliable source for the prison fire story. At least, she thinks that's what MacKenzie asked for; it's hard to be sure because Maggie pretty much runs away while she stutters a promise to get right on it. Her face burns like that time she dozed off in the sun and couldn't even handle putting on aloe to soothe it. Maggie ducks her head and hopes nobody else will decide to talk with her, possibly ever. She just about manages to sit at her desk and sift through her email in case she missed something reading it on her phone.

The good thing about being an associate producer for a thriving news show is that there's always somewhere else Maggie needs to be, always at least three things that need to be done right now. She's hyper-aware of everyone around her and every time MacKenzie appears even in her peripheral vision, Maggie takes off to handle something that definitely can't wait another moment, not even long enough for her to finish what she's working on.

It's entirely possible she ducks under her desk when it seems like Jim has decided he needs to talk to her; Maggie feels like if she says more than five words to anyone, she'll confess everything.

The only time Maggie can't actually avoid people is the daily rundowns; she spends them intently focused on work and not looking at anyone in case they can read it on her face. Maggie's never been great at secrecy. She says as little as possible, stumbling over her words worse than she had on her first day, but nobody says anything.

It's the day that never ends. Maggie keeps expecting to hear "five minutes to air" but according to the clock, they haven't even had their final rundown. She can do it, though, Maggie can absolutely make it through the rest of the day and that is what she has to do, and she'll just have to worry about everything that comes after later.

During final rundown, Maggie knows MacKenzie is watching her. She doesn't look up, but she doesn't have to. MacKenzie dismisses everyone while Maggie scribbles in the margins of a fax and then, then MacKenzie is right behind her before she can leave the conference table. "Maggie, can I please speak to you a moment?"

No refusal Maggie can compose even approaches convincing, so after a red-faced moment of stuttering she follows MacKenzie into her office.

MacKenzie leans against the front of her desk, concern clouding her features. "Are you all right, Maggie?"

"Fine! F-f-fine. I'll do better tomorrow, I'm sorry."

"Maggie," MacKenzie says calmly, "You're lying to me. I know you're lying to me. You know I know you're lying to me. You can talk to me about anything, please, it's dreadful seeing you like this." She bites her lip and Maggie knows her face blazes.

"Oh god. Oh god. This is so inappropriate." Maggie covers her face with her hands. "So you remember how Saturday you took me shopping and you made me get that- that sex toy? I just- I've never- And it was just sitting there and sitting there and I thought, well, if I just use it then everything will be fine only everything's not fine and I thought about you when I was using it and I thought, well, I thought I just had, you know, a work crush on you because you're kind of amazing but now I think maybe it's not a work crush, maybe it's a crush crush and this is all so embarrassing and confusing and really really mortifying-"

"What?" MacKenzie interrupts and Maggie catches her breath.

"I thought about you while I was using-" Maggie cuts herself off when MacKenzie waves the way she does when someone says something during a rundown that makes her think.

"I can't-" MacKenzie doesn't finish the sentence and Maggie just wants to get away and maybe drown herself in the watercooler for saying all that out loud.

"The show," she manages. "We've got- work- for the show."

Maggie can't decide if it went better or worse than she expected. On the one hand, now MacKenzie's being just as awkward as she is. On the other, she's not fired. She's still trying to decide if that counts as positive or negative.

MacKenzie almost blows cues several times during the broadcast, until Will's yelling at her during every c-break. Maggie just tries to do her job because there's an hour to go until she can go home and freak out in peace.

The apartment doesn't have peace. It has Lisa, which is pretty much the opposite of peace. Maggie spends half an hour distracted by giving Lisa her opinion on each outfit she tries on, but it's a relief when she heads out to the club and Maggie's home alone with her thoughts. As long as the thoughts aren't about MacKenzie biting her lip or tapping her fingers on a brief or talking.

Really, Maggie's only safe thought is that she still needs to find that final source on prison safety. Which is easier to do during office hours, but she can at least exhaust Internet resources until she's falling asleep and follow up by phone in the morning.

Work is definitely weird when MacKenzie seems to both be avoiding Maggie and watching her; Maggie can't help blushing every time she sees MacKenzie, which doesn't help either. But they both seem to be getting their work done, as far as Maggie knows. Jim hasn't yelled at her, at any rate, and she hasn't heard Will yelling either.

They're just working very much apart from one another and if Maggie's reliable source on prison fires is finally locked in, well, MacKenzie hasn't even pitched the story to Will yet so she doesn't need to go tell MacKenzie.

She hates it. Maggie feels like being fired would be easier to cope with. By lunchtime she's a giant ball of nerves and she's wondering if she can just move her desk out on the roof terrace.

Maggie's counting down to the final rundown of the day when her phone rings. She picks it up, fumbles and nearly drops it, then finally manages to raise it to her ear. "Hello?"

"Maggie, would you please come to my office?"

This is it, MacKenzie's going to fire her now. She's going to be fired and she can't even blame MacKenzie for it, she'd fire herself too.

Maggie shuts the door to MacKenzie's office behind her and stands there waiting. She's surprised when MacKenzie comes around from behind her desk, starts pacing. She stops and turns towards Maggie. "I'm terrible at this," she says, waving back and forth between them. "People."

"So am I," Maggie admits, though she knows it's not a surprising admission. She's not sure what MacKenzie's trying to say, maybe that she hates firing people. Fidgeting, Maggie wonders if she should just offer to start clearing out her desk. But MacKenzie starts moving again, this time stepping closer to Maggie and Maggie can't look at her, she won't.

MacKenzie just stands there silently and waits until Maggie gives in and tilts her head up, meeting her eyes. Just their proximity is turning her face rosy again. "Since we're already being inappropriate, I'm just, I'm going to-" Maggie startles when MacKenzie leans in and kisses her, but she's not so startled she doesn't kiss back.

There are a lot of things Maggie doesn't really think about. She's pretty sure kissing MacKenzie isn't going to be on that list anymore. She hadn't even realized she wanted to kiss MacKenzie, but now that MacKenzie's lips are on hers, Maggie's realizing just how much that is something she's wanted.

She braces her hands on MacKenzie's shoulders and tilts her head into the kiss. There's just something about kissing, the way lips brush together and the quiet sounds as they pull apart and then press together again. A good kiss is something that could go on for hours, but Maggie's not sure she's ever had a kiss this good before. Maybe it's a girl thing, guys just don't understand kisses so they're not as good at them. Either way, Maggie is pretty sure she could keep kissing MacKenzie until MacKenzie tells her not to anymore, and by the way MacKenzie's kissing back, one hand on Maggie's hip, she doesn't think that's going to happen any time soon.

There's a sound, like tapping on glass, and then MacKenzie's office door swings open and Maggie stumbles back from MacKenzie. "Rundown," Neal reminds them and Maggie tries to pretend she's not embarrassed. He looks embarrassed too, like he realized what he was interrupting just a moment too late. "Ah, we can wait a few minutes if you'd like." MacKenzie's lipstick is smudged.

"No, we'll-" MacKenzie straightens and tugs at the waist of her shirt. It doesn't entirely fix the wrinkles from Maggie grabbing her shoulders, but hopefully nobody will be thinking the wrinkles were caused by kissing. "We'll be right there."

"Great. Excellent. I'll just- go." The door shuts behind Neal and Maggie knows she's going to be red for at least another couple days.

"All set?" MacKenzie asks, stepping closer to the door.

Maggie motions to her mouth but MacKenzie just gives her a puzzled look. She moves back into MacKenzie's space and presses a quick kiss to her mouth before wiping away the lipstick smudge with the side of her thumb. "All set."

It's the last rundown of the day and Maggie can't help grinning when she thinks about how soon she and MacKenzie will be off work for the night. She loves news, but news isn't everything after all.


End file.
